


Brass

by Crowtoed



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Jewish Newt if you look, M/M, Military Uniforms, Post-Movie, Somewhat Fluffy, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2165253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowtoed/pseuds/Crowtoed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The K-Science boys are attending a ceremony where they're required to wear their PPDC uniforms and Newt is having misgivings.</p><p>Yes, I wrote a fic for my own prompt and kink. I'm a costumer, what do you want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brass

They had an hour before the ceremony began, thirty minutes if someone was being really technical and accounted for walking time and a cushion for punctual appearances- which he did. As usual, Newton did not. By the time he made it down the hall to Newt's room they had twenty-eight minutes, according to his clunky watch which had lovingly been adjusted the second they crossed into the Korea Time Zone.

Hermann knocked on the door, then pulled his jacket down. It felt tight compared to his usual clothes, but the Marshal insisted on dress uniform compliance. Besides, he had worn most of his wardrobe threadbare during the war to the point of almost wearing PPDC fatigues. _Almost_.

No answer, probably still passed out from last night's forays into the 24 hour karaoke bars. Who knew 'Eternal Flame' could sound so lyrical two bottles of sake in?  
  
He checked his watch. This was actually making him anxious. Trust Newt sleeping off an ill-advised bender to make them late for the PPDC service ceremony. “Newton, I swear to god, if you're sleeping or hung over, I will make your life a hell today!”

Thankfully, a badgered 'I'm comin', I'm comin'!' caterwauled from inside. Hermann was greeted with the sight of Newt still in his boxers and a Depeche Mode t-shirt and modeling a look of exasperation.

“Well damn,” he said, mouth twisting into a wry smile,”Dude, you can tell me- did you read my diary? Because how did you possibly know-” He gestured squarely in Hermann's direction.

The mathematician sighed. Right, the uniform- which he hadn't worn since their graduation from the academy back in 2015. By some twist of metabolic fate, the thing still fit. Its brass pips gleamed in contrast against the hip length blue-gray wool jacket. Like all PPDC uniforms, it was smartly simple- spare strap epaulettes, black tie, crisp shirt and lapels, and a cobalt stripe on his wrist that denoted the K-Science division. With significant pressure from Tendo and a chorus of J-Tech, he paid a visit to a barber and had his harsh fade evened up into a passable regulation cut. Despite its tightness, the right mix of long jacket and shoulder adornment managed to fill him out in a non-balloonish way.

Apparently it had a decent effect...

Hermann squelched a smile with a ruffled eyeroll and quirk of the jaw. “You know very well why I'm in uniform and you should be, too!” he snapped, “We have twenty-six... no... twenty-five minutes before we absolutely must be out of the hotel. We'll be late.”

“Easy, man, I know what today is. Won't take me long to change, just gotta get my robe on.”

“I had no idea we were attending the Hogwarts alumni dinner,” he quipped delicately,” What a cretin I was thinking we were going to a military service ceremony where we were ordered to be in military uniform.”

“Nah, I know how these deals work,” the biologist dismissed with a flip of his hand. He retreated back into his room and rummaged through the closet, “ I'm just gonna wear my MIT robes, same as jaeger academy.”

“You were in the office when the Marshal told us to both be in uniform... and I know you brought it.” Because Hermann had seen to it that his was packed in the same garment bag.

Newt put his gray and black robe on the hook, then sat on the end of his bed. “I don't want to wear it,” he said, muffled while crouched and groping at his scalp.

“What? You ca-”

His head darted up, furious,” I said I don't want to wear it! Look, it's nice that you finally get to cosplay as brave soldier man, Hermann. But I want to dress like what I am- a scientist! A scholar! I'm not one of those square peg saluting stiffs and neither are you. Let's not lie about who saved the world, here- it wasn't just rangers.”

Well that explained that. Honestly, Hermann would have figured it out within three seconds of seeing Newt in his alma mater's livery because A. since drifting Newt's strong emotions hovered like a haze in his cerebral cortex and B. even before linking minds, Newton Geiszler's motivations were as mysterious as a ransom note on personal stationary. Since he was a calmer man post-war- with his hypothesis no longer deciding the fate of the world- the mathematician heaved a suffering sigh and sat down next to his partner. Consciously, he made sure there were a few inches of clearance between them. Things had been odd the last month, to say the least. He was simultaneously the most certain and perplexed as to what category best described them. How their sets intersected.

 _Are you that purile?_   No.

 _Exactly how far into your rectum is your head inserted?_ Definitely not.

Finally he decided on a gentle, “You're misinterpreting the entire situation, you know.”

Newt looked over dismally, but then again, at a time like this, Hermann telling him he was wrong was familiar and comforting. “Oh, and what's your interpretation? That I should ride the PR pony for the media circus?”

“I'm not against you, so you can stop being defensive at any time, Newton.... Newt.” Hermann corrected so it sounded less like he was reprimanding a child. “Listen, think of this as a symbolic gesture- I've heard you say all the time that the military is all allegory in its extremities, right?”

“Article's waiting on green lights from the sociology journals,” he affirmed cheekily with a double volley of finger pistols.

“Oh _god_ ,” Hermann clapped a hand to his forehead and let it drag downwards. “My point is, wearing our uniforms is a symbolic gesture that humanity has prevaile- put your hand down, you're not interjecting right now- the PPDC is symbolic of the human race and try as you may to categorize yourself otherwise, you are a part of it. Now, what the uniforms are also saying in this case is that no effort is greater than the other. Ranger Mori and Ranger Becket will be in their uniforms and so should we- Newton stop licking your lips and let whatever you're about to say wait twenty seconds longer... the Marshal will be in his uniform and we need to send the message that we are no different than them. We all saved the world and should be recognized as such.”  
  
“But that's just it, we're going to look just like them,” Newt doggedly continued in the way that belied the holes in his argument. Hermann knew it well.

“What else is it? Something tells me this isn't purely existential.” Hermann toyed with the idea of putting a consolatory hand on Newt's leg.

The biologist's nostrils flared slightly. He looked down to study the hem of his boxers before grumbling, “I'm going to look stupid.”

What? Hermann nearly fell off the bed. With a steadying hand on his cane, he sputtered, “You can't be-”

“Dude, you know-” The sentence train sputtered to a halt. Newt licked his lips and had a brief internal struggle as to how to proceed. Instead, he resetted and looked fondly at Hermann, “So you look awesome. Like really awesome, like I have been hard the last few minutes looking at you dude, you're killing me. And everyone else is going to look awesome- not as hot at you- but they're going to look, you know, heroic and shit and I'm... I haven't worn that thing since before T. Dicks never gave me another one. And everyone's gonna see my stubby little legs and I'm gonna look like a lumpy fucking lawn gnome, man.”

Preposterous. Not a single thing Newt had said was true. In fact, Hermann felt many varieties of awkward and a special kind of squirmy in his uniform and certain that he looked like a crane jumped into a pile of washing. It was a fact, Newt was small- but he was proportioned decently, just with short legs, akin to a corgi. (A thought that made him snort, which he tried to pass it off as a sneeze.) But Hermann knew Newt didn't see himself the same way.

Now was a probably a good time for that reassuring hand, he thought. The biologist curled up in a ball on his side, smote by sympathy.

A smile crinkled Hermann's features, “I need you there with me, together, you know. I can't go through with this horse and pony show alone.”

Newt sputtered out a laugh in spite of himself, “Dog and pony, dude. And I get it.”

“And for what it's worth,” he sighed, “I think you'll look very handsome in your uniform. Apparently it did wonders for me.”

The smaller man looked like he'd been struck by lightning. The sudden silence was disconcerting. In the interim, Hermann attempted a few more motivational pats on the thigh and checked his watch twice. Twenty minutes. It was going to be tight. Tighter than this damned coat.

Finally.  
  
“I'm not shaving, dude.”

“That's fine,” he agreed primly, “We haven't got the time anyhow.”

“And, you know, I don't feel like looking nine,” Newt scratched the bumper crop of scruff along his jaw.

Hermann slowly rose to his feet and angled towards the door, “I'm glad. I'll be waiting in the lobby, but be quick about it.”

“Actually-”  
  
He spun around to peer at his fidgeting drift partner. “Could you stay here. I mean- I'll like, get changed in the bathroom and all, but I haven't got all the fruit salad on.”

“I suppose,” he groaned, inconvenienced, “I should stay here anyhow to make sure you don't dawdle.”

With a lack of anything easy to say, Newt gave a thumbs up, “Cool, be out in a few.” He slung the loaded hanger over his shoulder and closed the door tightly.

When he emerged they had thirteen minutes until their cab arrived. It could have been worse, certainly, but Newt was only wearing the sky blue shirt and slacks. The tie hung like a dead squid from his collar. Considering how the man usually dressed, it wasn't much of a difference.... just neater. Hermann looked up from the glossy pictures of the tourism magazine their rooms were stocked with.

“We haven't got a lot of time. Is there a problem?”

Newt tugged at the tie sheepishly, “Do you think you could tie this for me?”

“What?!” Hermann scoffed, “But you wore ties all the time at the Shatterdome?” Pathetic excuses for ties, but all the same...

It was then that Newton confirmed what Hermann had posited for a long time, “Yeah... uh... my ex tied those all for me years ago, I just slide in and out of 'em. I have no idea, dude. I can make a generator out of a bag of potatoes and a motorcycle battery but I can't tie a frickin tie.”

The mathematician bit back his kneejerk comment of ' _well didn't your father teach you_ '. No. Obviously not. Hermann's mother made sure he was able to tie his even in the dark before he went off to school. He sighed again and closed in on Newt- he smelled like Old Spice and pomade with nary a wiff of ammonia or formaldehyde. It was a nice change.

“You know,” he said, crossing and sliding the ends of the tie,”There are all sorts of tutorials on the internet for this.”

“Yep,” Newt chirruped to his forehead,” But it's a lot more fun to get cute people to do this for me.”

Oh god, the flirting. It was a near constant since the drift. Hermann hastily slid the knot through and tightened the tie to near choking to get away. He re-assumed his place on the bed with a perplexed expression. The smaller man looked a little crestfallen and slid on his jacket.

“Fucking long coats,” he muttered viciously to the mirror, fingers sliding over the eagle embossed buttons. “Look like a fucking hobbit, amirite?”

Hermann looked up and dropped the magazine on the overbleached coverlet. The jacket did it. It managed to push Newton out of the realm of enforced casual shabbiness and into some stratosphere of looking polished and... well... quite dapper. Long as the jacket was, the slacks had a cobalt stripe running up the legs, which helped somewhat. His hair was still running amok, however.

“You look fine,” the mathematician blurted distantly, “Do you have a comb?”

Newt continued to glare at himself in the mirror. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged towards the open bathroom, “Sure, on the sink, help yourself- no worries, I haven't got lice or cooties or anything.”

He jumped almost a meter into the air when Hermann attacked with the comb. Somehow the mathematician managed to dodge his lab partner's flailing limbs, “C'mon dude, not cool. What are you, my Bubbe?”

The savage combing continued unabated. “Stop whining and stand still for a minute. Just let me.. Newton you're going to look like a small, partially shaved bear they stuffed into a uniform, would you please...”

Sulkily, Newt resigned himself to Hermann's 'fixing'. All of the pomade in his hair meant that it whipped itself into decent shape with a few passes of the comb. Nothing severe, just neatened and brushed towards the back. Next, a few tugs at his lapels to make them lay flat. The mathematician's long, bony fingers passed over every piece of insignia, making sure they sat straight- particularly the plate with 'Geiszler' etched on it. A brush of the epaulettes, a pull at the hem of the jacket. During his ministrations Hermann pointedly avoided looking Newt in the eye. The same wasn't true of his lab partner, who seemed to relish the attention towards the end.

“There,” he said with a final smoothing of the shoulders, “I think that'll do nicely.”

“Gee, thanks Alfred,” Newt scoffed caustically, “Now you don't have to be seen with me looking like a wreck.”

“That's not what I meant, so stop,” Hermann wrinkled his nose, albeit momentarily. As if conflicted, Newt stared at his reflection and fidgeted with the cuffs.

“It's too damn long and the sleeves are weird and the chest is too-”

“And I was right.”

Newt whirled around, aghast, “What?”

“I said I was right,” he repeated with a smug smile, “You look very handsome.”

The biologist seemed to change phases of matter into something that would need mopping off of the floor. A dumb grin broke his scruffy face. Sentences formed, then dissolved before he could say them and Hermann decided that they hadn't the time for this sort of thing. He stepped into Newt's glowing puddle of confused euphoria, gave his hair another flip back, and pressed a dry, quick kiss on the other man's forehead. Nothing showy, nothing torrid. Just matter of factly. He was right after all.

“Come along, Newt, our taxi will be here in three minutes. Do pick yourself off of the floor. Don't forget your key,” Hermann smirked from the door.

Newt snapped out of whatever trance of sunshine and rainbows and malomars he was in and pocketed the plastic key card sitting on the nightstand.

“Hey,” he piped up while trying to retrieve his hand from the tight pockets of his slacks, “You like japchae? Lobby dude said there's a good place down the street and I dunno... maybe after the ceremony and shit we could... eat food together?”

Hermann raised an eyebrow, just to make him squirm.

“I think,” he began, watching Newt's fingers nervously wriggle together, “That's a lovely idea. No sake, though. I think you've had quite enough for one trip.”

“I can dig that,” the smaller man shrugged, obviously relieved.

The silence in the elevator ride down wasn't tense, but soothing. For all of Hermann's reassurance, Newt still looked anxious. It was understandable. Which was why Hermann didn't recoil when the man wordlessly reached out for his hand. It was a quiet, mutual meditation of comfort. Hermann happily closed his eyes like a lazy cat.

“Hey,” Newt finally spoke as the elevator doors parted, “Think if we wear these uniforms and the medals to the restaurant we'll get free dinner?”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
